


jawbreaker

by realtalk



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bottom Jung Wooyoung, Cat Ears, Catboys & Catgirls, Collars, College, Contracts, Crossdressing, Enemies to Lovers, Feminization, House Cleaning, Jung Wooyoung is a Brat, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Maids, Master/Pet, Mentioned Jung Yoonoh | Jaehyun, Mentioned Kim Jongin | Kai, Mentioned Park Chanyeol, References to Drugs, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Top Choi San
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-28
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:27:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 15,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27242671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realtalk/pseuds/realtalk
Summary: wooyoung's late on rent again. thankfully, there's a 47-year-old man out there who's willing to transfer $8,000 into his bank account each week for wearing cat ears and a maid dress while he cleans the guy's mansion. his son might make the job a bit more difficult than wooyoung had originally anticipated, though.orwooyoung's broke and seonghwa offers a solution. wooyoung didn't think that san was part of the deal.
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 101
Kudos: 280





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wo_osan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wo_osan/gifts).



> this is an idea i've had floating around in my head for a while now, so i'm really excited to finally dive into it. i had a lot of fun writing this first chapter, so i hope you guys enjoy it!! not too sure how many chapters it'll come out to quite yet...we shall see. also, tags will be added as i update probably. (and the rating will definitely increase.)

_Seeking housekeeper for a two-member (aged 47 and 22) household. 9,000 square foot home. Required services include cleaning, laundry, and cooking. Other services to be discussed. Flat rate of $8,000 per week with a chance to earn monetary bonuses. Email parkshw@gmail.com for inquiries._

Wooyoung nearly chokes on his instant ramen.

“ _Jongho_ ,” Wooyoung shrieks, working through his coughing fit. “Holy shit, g _et the fuck over here!_ ” Wooyoung starts rapidly clicking the link to the Craigslist ad, impatient as the site slowly loads. The wifi in their apartment building is _shit_ as per usual.

“I’m _studying_ ,” Jongho calls back from another room. “What the fuck are you yelling about?!”

Wooyoung makes a full-throated dramatic noise of distress.

“ _Come here!_ ”

Jongho groans loud enough to be heard from across the apartment and stalks into the kitchen to where Wooyoung’s sat at their wobbly seven-dollar table from a yard sale.

“ _What._ ”

The site’s finally loaded, so Wooyoung just points at his laptop screen with wide eyes. He can feel his heartbeat pick up its pace as he waits for his roommate to read through the ad, fingers drumming against the table anxiously.

“Holy fucking _shit_ , that’s _so_ sketchy,” Jongho breathes. He looks up from the screen to stare at Wooyoung with more intensity than he ever has before. “Apply. You need the money dude. No, _we_ need the money.”

It’s true. They’re late on rent. ( _Again_.) And those late fees are starting to grow at a terrifyingly exponential rate.

So, obviously, Wooyoung spends a humiliatingly large chunk of his afternoon formulating an inquiry to “parkshw” at gmail dot com.

-

When the homeowner had answered his email inquiry to set up an interview, Wooyoung wasn’t shocked to see that the house was situated right in the middle of the _rich_ , rich part of the city. Despite being familiar with the neighborhood, he had no clue what to expect (besides oversized houses with balconies and some _immaculate_ landscaping jobs).

He turns off the ignition, grips the steering wheel with both hands, and squeezes his eyes shut. After coaching himself through some deep breathing exercises, Wooyoung finally glares up at that fucking _mansion_ because _fuck_ rich people to hell and back. The $8,000 a week salary immediately starts to make more sense.

The house is obnoxious in both size and style, and it’s honestly making Wooyoung feel kind of nauseous. He can’t even spot a single piece of _lawn_ grass that’s out of place as he ascends the front steps to the house. Everything is so disturbingly pristine that Wooyoung feels nervous even to _breathe_ too loudly.

The front door is as daunting as anything, a grand double, gold handles, and _oh_ , that’s _definitely_ some kind of anti-burglary system. Wooyoung quickly comes to terms with the fact that he is, without question, being recorded by that security camera right now. Hands shaking and clammy, he rings the doorbell.

A few seconds pass before Wooyoung hears the jangling sounds of internal locks being undone. The door opens to reveal a _criminally_ attractive man with a smirk on his face that’s equal parts charming as it is patronizing. Flecks of grey peek through a head of dark black hair, effortlessly tousled. He’s tall, slender, and dressed impeccably.

_Rich people._

“You must be Jung Wooyoung,” the man says, voice soft and smooth yet still somehow dripping with authority.

_This guy must be a walking contradiction._

“I’m Park Seonghwa. It’s a pleasure to finally put a face to your name,” Seonghwa steps to the side. “Please, come in. Let’s talk about the job.”

Wooyoung stares at him thoughtlessly for a few seconds longer than what would be considered socially acceptable. After the static fizzles out from his brain, he realizes he hasn’t even said hello yet.

“Ah, _yes_ , I’m Jung Wooyoung,” he sputters before folding his body into a ninety-degree angled bow. “It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Park.” A nervous sweat pricks at the nape of his neck, and Wooyoung holds his breath.

“Seonghwa’s fine,” Wooyoung can tell he’s grinning from the tone of his voice. “You’re quite polite, aren’t you? That’s nice to see. But please, stand up. Let’s talk in the backyard.”

Wooyoung springs back into an upright position, eyes wide, and definitely _way sweatier_ than he was when he parked his car.

“Yes, uh, that sounds great.”

-

It turns out that Seonghwa’s backyard boasts a massive in-ground and _multi-level_ pool with a waterfall wall _and_ attached hot-tub, a gazebo with a built-in bar, and even more of that _perfect fucking lawn_.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about hiring a third housekeeper for a while now,” Seonghwa’s seated the two of them at a poolside glass table with an obnoxious red umbrella. “I worry that my two boys who already work for me are a bit overwhelmed, even if they don’t say it. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, this _is_ quite a large property.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes internally.

“Anyways, now’s a better time than any for a new hire. I’ll be away on business for about a month, so only my son will be in the house,” Seonghwa pauses, and Wooyoung watches as a crease appears between those two perfectly shaped eyebrows. “He can be a bit of a troublemaker. My two keepers will _definitely_ need the extra help. I think my Sannie would enjoy the new company, too, come to think of it.”

 _Sannie_. Stupid name. Wooyoung rolls his eyes (internally) for the second time within thirty seconds.

“I’m prepared to offer you $8,000 weekly for typical housekeeping services, like cleaning, laundry, cooking, etcetera. But,” Seonghwa glances up, “I also offer bonuses for certain additional services. I’m sure you saw that mentioned in the ad. Anyways, I have the specifics all written out here in this contract.” Seonghwa slides a manila folder across the table. “Different services warrant different bonuses,” he smiles tight-lipped, eyes glinting dangerously in the sun. “Go ahead and open up the folder.”

Wooyoung eyes it suspiciously and takes a sip of the mint-infused water that had been offered to him a few minutes prior. It nearly finds its way out of his nose when he sees _how fucking big_ these bonuses are. Seonghwa pushes a cloth napkin into Wooyoung’s hand.

“ _Sorry_ ,” Wooyoung chokes, trying to compose himself. “These are just… _really_ generous bonuses. I wasn’t expecting anything like this.”

Seonghwa grins, this time with teeth. Wooyoung thinks that he probably gets them whitened professionally.

“You’re not the first to react like that,” Seonghwa chuckles. “Let’s discuss then, yes?”

Wooyoung can only bring himself to nod stupidly.

“I have a very particular taste,” Seonghwa begins, voice airy and light. “When I saw you at my front door, I was pleased to see that your face fits the bill perfectly.” He gets up from his chair to move around to Wooyoung’s side of the table and inspect the contract, leaning _dangerously_ close into his personal bubble. Wooyoung gulps.

“I mean, I don’t see why I shouldn’t be able to enjoy more than one aspect of having a housekeeper. Of course, they need to do the job well, but I prefer them to be fun to look at, too.”

_Fun to look at?!_

“That said,” Seonghwa pokes a finger onto the page, “I offer an additional $500 for each day you work while wearing cat ears and another $500 for each day you work while wearing a collar. Lastly,” he pauses, turning to face Wooyoung, “I offer an additional $1,000 for each day you work while wearing a custom-tailored dress that I will provide for you.”

Wooyoung’s been in some pretty weird situations during his twenty-two years of life, but none of them have ever left him _this fucking speechless_.

“You’re telling me,” Wooyoung gulps, “that if I wear a dress for like, five days of the week, that I’d earn the $8,000 _plus_ an additional $5,000?” He pauses, then finally looks Seonghwa in the eye.

“Is this a fucking joke?”

Seonghwa blinks.

“Wooyoung, this is completely serious. I enjoy it, and I can afford it, and therefore,” he smirks, “ _I do it_.”

“Anyways, it’s fully optional. I have no intention of forcing you into something you’re not comfortable doing. Remember, I consider these to be _bonus_ services, not the mandatory ones I’m hiring you to do. If you accept the job, you’ll still be earning $8,000 each week. That means that if you worked every week of the year, you have more than $400,000 than you do right now sitting in your checking account.”

“But, hypothetically, if you did all the bonus services I’ve listed here each day…” Seonghwa pauses to do some mental math. “You’d be making an additional $14,000 per week _on top_ of the flat $8,000. That’s $22,000 weekly,” Seonghwa leans forward, “and more than _one million_ in a year.” He steps away and circles back around to his side of the table. Wooyoung feels a migraine coming on.

“Are you sure this isn’t prostitution?” Wooyoung finally blurts out after giving himself a moment to wrap his brain around those numbers. “Because, I mean, this seems like…dangerously close to being prostitution.” He pauses. “Wait—and why would you even be _offering_ all that? You just said you’ll be away for _an entire month_ , so you wouldn’t even like, see me!”

“I’ll be having my son take photos and videos to send to me as proof,” Seonghwa says without missing a beat.

 _God, what a fucking freak._ Wooyoung tries not to visibly react to the thought of this grown man having his _son_ send him photos of his housekeepers dressed as _catboy maids_ just to satisfy some weird fetish.

“And, don’t forget—it’s optional,” Seonghwa taps at the contract again. “Bonus services, remember?”

Wooyoung frowns, nodding slowly.

“But, it’s still like…” he gulps, “ _fetish-y._ ”

“Yeah, I can’t argue that one,” _Christ, he’s so upfront._ “But it’s nothing overtly sexual. I’d never ask you or _expect_ you to perform any sexual acts. Just think of it as being paid extra for wearing a uniform to work, nothing more and nothing less. I get my home cleaned and cared for while _also_ enjoying the view, and _you_ get the opportunity to earn up to $22,000 each week.”

Wooyoung hates that Seonghwa has a point. It would be a no-brainer if he didn’t have any self-respect.

“You don’t have to decide today,” Seonghwa continues. “Think about it for a few days if you need to. You’ve got my email address, so reach out to me when you come to a conclusion. But truly, I’d be happy to employ you.”

"I’ll do it,” Wooyoung blurts, “all of it.” As it turns out, Wooyoung doesn’t actually have any self-respect.

“ _Oh_ ,” Seonghwa looks pretty surprised. “Well, that’s great news then.”

Wooyoung signs and dates the contract, and Seonghwa tells him he’s looking forward to seeing him next week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaaand there's chapter 1! can you guess who the other two housekeepers are?? LMAO
> 
> (also it took me an embarrassingly long time to figure out all that math.)
> 
> as always, comments and kudos are muuuch appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> minor content warning for san being ..... an asshole.
> 
> enjoy.

Five days later finds Wooyoung, yet again, profusely sweating in front of Seonghwa’s front door. According to the email he’d received, today was meant for getting acquainted with both the house and the two other keepers. And, _of course_ , he’d also have to get his measurements taken for that “custom-tailored dress.” Wooyoung shivers at the thought.

Because _shit_ , it’s just _so_ _demeaning._

When Wooyoung had stepped back into their apartment last week, Jongho had been leaning against their kitchen wall, clearly awaiting his return. After going through what felt like a _second_ interview with his roommate, Wooyoung had actually felt the tiniest bit better about what he’d agreed to. Jongho was smart and had the GPA to prove it, and in Wooyoung’s head, that meant the guy was _credible._

So by that logic, _yeah_ , everything’s gonna be _just fine._

Wooyoung recites a quick mental prayer to a God that he doesn’t actually believe in and rings the doorbell.

 _Self-respect be damned. Self-respect be damned. Self-respect be da_ —

“Hi, Wooyoung!” Seonghwa stands at the threshold of the door with that same perturbing glint in his eyes. “It’s so great to see that face of yours again. Please, come on in.”

He does.

“Feel free to take a seat. I’m just going to go grab us some infused water,” Seonghwa pauses before walking off. “Is mint alright with you, or would you prefer strawberry today?”

Wooyoung allows himself to sink into the leather couch as he screams internally at that stupid fucking question. “Ah, mint’s fine.” _Infused water._ Seonghwa nods and steps out of the room, presumably towards the kitchen to leave Wooyoung to anxiously fizzle out of existence.

_What if this was a mistake? Or what if it’s just a scam? No—it can’t be a complete scam...I mean, look at this fucking house. And the pool. Fuck. Wait—what if my family finds out about this? I’ll literally never be allowed back home because they’ll think I’m prostituting myself. Am I?! No, wait, I’m definitely not. Seonghwa even said so. God, it’s still so whore-ish, though. Fuck, am I actually a total pervert? Is that why I agreed to thi—_

“Uh, hi?”

Oh, someone’s in here. (And it’s _not_ Seonghwa.) Wooyoung whips his head up to identify the voice’s owner and finds quite a pretty face in front of him. Albeit, that “pretty face’ is staring him down with a _suffocating_ look of apprehension.

“Are you alright?” the pretty guys asks, groomed eyebrows furrowed.

“Oh, _shit_ , yeah _—_ my bad,” Wooyoung manages. “Was just…thinking.”

The crease between pretty boy’s brows smooths out, and Wooyoung can suddenly kind of breathe again. He smiles, bright and sweet. “You must be Wooyoung, I’m guessing?”

He gulps. “That’s me.”

Pretty boy holds a small hand out towards Wooyoung, expectant. He notices how his nails are neatly manicured and rounded. “I’m Hongjoong.”

And that’s the moment when Wooyoung finally notices the guy’s _attire_. Hongjoong’s wearing what Wooyoung can only assume is one of Seonghwa’s “custom-tailored” dresses. Subtly puffed shoulder accents with a collared neckline on top, the dress cinches in to accommodate his tiny waist before the skirt puffs and frills out prettily around his hips, his thighs. Of course, a small white apron adorned with petite black bows is laced up around that _devious_ little waist, tied up prettily at the back. Wooyoung’s eyes travel up a bit farther again, and holy _shit,_ is that a _boob window?!_ There’s no question about it _—_ positioned right at the center of Hongjoong’s chest is a _cat-shaped boob window._ Wooyoung feels his throat dry up.

“Wow,” he wheezes. Hongjoong raises a brow. “Your _—_ the _dress_ ,” he clarifies, gesturing dumbly. And _god_ , this guy’s wearing fluffy cat ears and a collar with a delicate silver bell _too._ Clearly, Seonghwa takes this whole thing very, _very_ seriously.

“God, don’t look so _enamored_ , dude,” Hongjoong scoffs, clearly biting back a laugh.

“I’m not!” Wooyoung immediately counters. “Just… surprised. Also, it looks terrific on you, actually.” Hongjoong crosses his arms, a coy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Thanks, I know. It _is_ custom-tailored.”

Seonghwa reappears with a tall glass in each hand.

“Oh, Hongjoong! I see you’ve met Wooyoung?” Seonghwa takes a seat to the left of Wooyoung and wordlessly hands him his glass, never breaking eye contact with Hongjoong. _Looks like he’s got a favorite._

“Yes, sir, I was just introducing myself,” Hongjoong answers, eyes fucking _sparkling._ Wooyoung makes a mental note that there’s definitely _something_ going on between those two, then promptly files it away into the deepest recesses of his mind. Hongjoong may as well have been a _real_ _fucking pet_ with the way his invisible tail was wagging at his... master. _Freaky._

“Well, that’s just wonderful, isn’t it?” Wooyoung watches a droplet of condensation slink down the outer rim of his cup, vaguely registering the sound of his own heartbeat blaring inside his ears.

“Hongjoong, go find Yeosang for me. I’d like him to introduce himself, too.” Hongjoong’s gone in a flash, clearly eager to please.

“He’s quite a sweetheart, no?” Seonghwa asks, eyes narrowed boldly in Wooyoung’s direction. He takes a sip.

“Ah, _yes_ , he seems very nice,” Wooyoung sputters. The sound of two pairs of approaching footsteps cuts off any other question Seonghwa could’ve asked next. Another guy enters the living room at Hongjoong’s side, and he’s equally _—_ if not _more—_ beautiful than the latter. _This guy looks like a fucking living doll._ He’s donning the same state of dress as Hongjoong, although his… _cat ears…_ are a different color: a sandy blonde to match his hair.

“Hi there,” he starts with a voice that does _not_ match his face _at all,_ “I’m Yeosang. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Wooyoung.” Doll boy dips into a shallow bow and quickly returns to an upright position, a soft smile playing on his lips. (Wooyoung tries to ignore the fact that the bell on the guy’s collar just jingled.)

To be perfectly honest, he’s _intimidated_ by these two _astonishingly beautiful men._ His brain then decided to remind him of what Seonghwa had said last week: _I have a very particular taste. When I saw you at my front door, I was pleased to see that your face fits the bill perfectly._

Wooyoung feels a blush rise up at the back of his neck, the tips of his ears. “It’s, uh _—_ I’m glad to meet you, too.”

Seonghwa claps his hands together, and if he’s aware of Wooyoung’s inner turmoil right now, he’s doing a damn good job at pretending that he isn’t. “Well, now that we’re all introduced, let’s get down to business, shall we?” The boys nod in unison.

“Hongjoong, I’d love for you to give Wooyoung a tour of the house. Yeosang, while that’s happening, could you prepare a late lunch for everyone?” Again, they nod in unison. _Like little puppets._

“Oh, and Hongjoong,” Seonghwa says. “Bring Wooyoung to the boudoir once you’ve finished showing him around.”

-

Wooyoung’s officially been acquainted with the kitchen, living room, first-floor bathroom, _and_ the laundry room. At present, he finds himself behind Hongjoong as they ascend a spiral wooden staircase leading to the second floor. He’s careful not to accidentally peek up the guy’s dress, eyes instead aimed at Hongjoong’s ankles. _But fuck, he’s wearing frilled socks._

“Alright,” Hongjoong says once they reach the top, slightly out of breath. “The second floor has four bedrooms _—_ Seonghwa’s, San’s, and two extra guest rooms _—_ and then three bathrooms _and_ Seonghwa’s office.”

“ _Three_ bathrooms?!” (Wooyoung thought that it seemed a bit… excessive.)

“I know,” Hongjoong laughs. “One’s in Seonghwa’s bedroom, and another is in San’s. The third is a more general one.”

Oh, right, _San_. That must be “Sannie,” or rather, Seonghwa’s _kid_. Wooyoung had kind of forgotten about all that.

“San is, uh, Seonghwa’s son, right?” Wooyoung asks cautiously. Hongjoong straightens a frame on the wall.

“Indeed, he is.”

“Well, what’s he like?” Wooyoung’s curious.

Hongjoong turns around, leans back against the wall, and chuckles. “He’s… _a lot,”_ he starts. “He’s a year younger than I am, so he’s 22. _That_ in itself is kinda weird since it’s like I’m… cleaning up after a guy who could be my college roommate,” Hongjoong pauses. “I won’t lie, he can kind of be a shithead. Like, he likes to… press buttons, I guess. Don’t get me wrong, though _—_ he’s not a bad guy.”

Wooyoung allows all that information to soak in and finds that the most surprising part is that San is the same exact age as him. Yeah, that might make for some _weird_ dynamics.

“What’s today, Wednesday?” Hongjoong pulls his phone out from his apron to check the time. “Okay, yeah, he should be home soon since his class ends at two today.” Hongjoong eyes Wooyoung with that same freaky _look_ that Seonghwa had previously used on him.

“Lucky you, you’ll probably be able to meet him today.”

Wooyoung isn’t sure how lucky he really feels.

-

Once he’s given Wooyoung the lowdown on the attic, basement, _and_ backyard, Hongjoong announces that his tour is finally over. That meant it was lunchtime, and for _that,_ Wooyoung was thankful. Whatever Yeosang had been preparing for the past hour smelled absolutely delicious. His stomach growled as he stepped into the kitchen as if to announce his arrival in the most humiliating possible way. Yeosang glanced up at the two of them and wiped his hands on his apron.

“Hungry?” he asked, a smug smile on his lips.

“ _Starving_ ,” Wooyoung replied shamelessly.

Wooyoung takes a seat at the kitchen island, and Yeosang slides a plate of god-knows-what in front of him; quite frankly, he doesn’t give two shits what it is because it smells _insane_. He takes a bite just as Hongjoong’s sitting down beside him.

“Oh, holy _fuck_ , Yeosang,” Wooyoung groans through a mouthful. “Dude, this is like, _really_ good.” He hears Hongjoong snicker.

“I appreciate the feedback,” Yeosang says smoothly. “Do you cook at home?”

Wooyoung chews and swallows _—manners—_ before responding.

“I love cooking, yeah,” he starts, grinning, “but I’ve never been able to make something _this_ good before.” Wooyoung meets Yeosang’s eyes, serious and intense. “You gotta teach me. Seriously, I’d _really_ appreciate it.”

Yeosang barks out a shocked laugh. “I _—wow,_ okay,” he pauses. “People tend to enjoy what I make, but I’ve never gotten _that_ kind of reaction before… Yeah, I can give you some tips.” Wooyoung hums gratefully around another forkful of food.

“ _He-ey,_ this the fresh meat or something?”

Wooyoung freezes mid-bite. _Who the fuck was that?_ He turns to identify the source of the voice, and _boom._ There’s a broad-shouldered guy with a chiseled jaw and shifty eyes staring _right at him_. He saunters into the kitchen with an air of self-importance that makes Wooyoung want to wrinkle his nose.

The nameless douchebag throws an arm around Hongjoong’s shoulder. “Or is this a new _boyfriend_ or yours?”

“Hi, San,” Hongjoong says, munching on his lunch as if this is _normal._ “How was your class today?” San’s eyes shift up at Wooyoung again before settling on Yeosang.

“Don’t ask me boring questions, _Hong-joong-ie_ ,” he singsongs. “What about you, Yeosang? Is he _your_ new boyfriend?” Yeosang takes a metal straw into his mouth and slurps loudly.

“Don’t be _rude_ , San,” Yeosang says after a sufficient amount of _slurping_. “Introduce yourself.”

_Oh, fuck._

San detaches himself from Hongjoong’s back and leans against the island to _quite literally_ look Wooyoung up and down. He does it twice.

“I’m Seonghwa’s son,” he extends a hand, “San.” Wooyoung gulps.

“I’m… Wooyoung,” he offers quietly. Cautiously, he shakes San’s hand. _Calloused._ “Your father just hired me.”

“San,” Yeosang interrupts, _thank god._ “Are you hungry?” San still hasn’t released Wooyoung’s hand and _still_ hasn’t broken eye contact.

“Mm, yeah, actually,” he says. “Smells good in here, Yeosangie. You’ll make _quite_ the housewife someday.” Wooyoung feels his left eye twitch as San strengthens his grip.

Yeosang just hums before setting a full plate near San. _Is this guy for real?_

As soon as San’s focused his attention on his meal, Wooyoung takes a moment to practice his deep-breathing again. _In two three four, hold two three four, out two three four, rest two th—_

“Wooyoung?”

He jumps, startled, and slams his knee against the bottom of the marble counter. He’s _really_ gotta stop zoning out.

“Sorry, uh,” he rubs at his knee absently and turns to Hongjoong. “What did you say?” San’s visibly snickering at Wooyoung’s despair. _This fucking asshole._

“If you’re done eating,” Hongjoong says, “then it’s time to meet Seonghwa in the boudoir.” Ah yes. The _boudoir_. Wooyoung clears his throat and slips out of his seat. “Yeah, I’m done.”

He glances at his empty plate before quickly grabbing it, intending to put it in the dishwasher. Yeosang puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. “It’s fine,” he grins. “I’ve got it.” Wooyoung tries with everything in him to forget San’s little housewife comment as he hands over his dirty plate and cutlery.

“Hey, Hongjoong _—_ wait.” _San._ “I’ll show him over, yeah?”

Wooyoung stares at Hongjoong with a look that he hopes reads as _no no no no no no no no._

“Alright, then.” _Fuck._

San smirks, clearly quite pleased with himself, and stands up to take his place next to Wooyoung. He was only a few centimeters taller than Wooyoung—from what he could tell—but tack on that _ego,_ and suddenly the douchebag was 6 foot 3.

“I’ll lead the way, then,” he says, voice like raw honey laced with cyanide.

-

Wooyoung feels _betrayed,_ to say the least. Hongjoong really just set him loose with this freak while Yeosang stood back and _watched_. But, as always, there’s no time for sulking; San’s led him to a broad set of double doors on the third floor and is eyeing him expectantly. He turns the door handle, and light immediately floods the hallway.

“Welcome,” San wiggles his fingers in the air dramatically, “to the _boudoir._ ”

Wooyoung’s met with a spacious, well-lit room. The light of the late-afternoon sun is elegantly dripping down every surface of the space, shadows oozing through the arcs and divets of the ceiling paneling. Not much else is inside the room save for the large wardrobe, a full-sized mirror, and an antique-looking vanity with a matching stool; all the rest is open space for the sunlight to fill during the day, for the moonlight during the evenings. Seonghwa’s sat at the vanity, scrolling through his phone, mindlessly eating a plate of Yeosang’s food and humming. He’s got a measuring tape hanging around the back of his neck. San steps into the room first, and _something_ shifts.

“ _He-ey, dad!_ ”

Wooyoung’s eye twitches again when he hears San greet his father with, undeniably, his _best_ good-boy-voice. Seonghwa looks up from his phone with a small noise of shock, then grins widely at the sight of his son looking at him _ever so adoringly._

Wooyoung wants to gag because, like, what a fucking _fraud_.

“Sannie!” Seonghwa stands up. “How was class today?”

“It was _great_ ,” San gushes theatrically.

“We covered some _fascinating_ stuff today. I’ll tell you all about it later if you’d like, but,” he glances towards Wooyoung, “I brought _Wooyoungie_ here to get fitted for his uniform. Hongjoong had mentioned it, so I thought I’d show our new guest the way over.”

Seonghwa ruffles San’s hair as if he’d just solved _world fucking hunger_.

“That’s so kind of you,” Seonghwa replies. “Always so helpful.” Wooyoung wonders how a kid can have his parent _this_ wrapped around his finger. Finally, Seonghwa addresses him.

“I hope your tour with Hongjoong was sufficient,” he starts. “If you have any questions or concerns, know that you’re free to ask anyone around here for help.”

“ _Anyone_ ,” San says as he slips one of those _sneaky little hands_ into the back pocket of Wooyoung’s jeans. He squeezes— _hard._ “That’s including _me_ , of course.”

Wooyoung’s breath hitches, and he bites the inside of his cheek. _What the fuck._

“ _Ah_ , speaking of,” San says, finally releasing his _gorilla_ _grip_ from Wooyoung’s fucking asscheek, “why don’t I take care of Wooyoung’s measurements so you can go relax?”

_No._

“Oh, _yes_ , that would be great, San!” _Of course. Of course it would._

Seonghwa drapes the measuring tape around his son’s shoulders and produces a small notepad from his jacket’s breast pocket. “Write down the measurements in here for me, alright?”

San nods in agreement and smiles, but Wooyoung can still see that devilish glint in his eye.

“I’ll be in my office,” Seonghwa says, making his way towards the door. “Wooyoung, when you’re done, just come to return the notepad.”

“Yeah, you’ve got it.”

The door shuts, and Wooyoung releases a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. Then, he turns to meet San’s eyes and smacks him square across the cheek.

A jolting _smack_ sound claps the air around the two of them. Wooyoung can feel his palm stinging, can hear his pulse bludgeoning his ears.

“What the _fuck_ is your problem?” he spits. “You don’t get to touch me. _You don’t know me._ ”

San, who hasn’t even made a noise yet, starts to _giggle_. The side of his face is _welting up,_ and he’s fucking _laughing_.

“ _Shit_ ,” he says once he’s caught his breath, “remind me not to fuck with you, yeah?”

Wooyoung narrows his eyes.

“ _Yeah_.”

San drops into the stool at the vanity and presses a hand to his cheek, wincing. “You got me good,” he says. “I’ll admit I probably deserved that, but I _seriously_ don’t regret grabbing tha—”

“Do you want me to hit you _again_?!” Wooyoung sputters. He’s fucking _livid_.

“Is that what this is? _What_ —your dad gets off on boys in _dresses_ and you... you get off on _pain_ or something?”

That seemed to catch San a bit off guard.

“Wow, you’re like, _seriously_ fired up right now.”

“Yeah, I am, because you can’t just _grab my ass like you know me_.”

San stands up again. “So, following that logic, if we knew each other a bit better…” he smirks, “then I’d be allowed to feel you up?”

Wooyoung just _stares_.

“Are you fucked in the head? Like, I’m _genuinely_ asking,” Wooyoung inhales, “because you’re acting like a fucking _freak_.”

“Take that hoodie off so I can start measuring you,” is all San says. Wooyoung scoffs, but for some reason, he listens. He tosses the hoodie on the floor. San pulls the measuring tape from his neck and lines himself up behind Wooyoung.

“I’m not _completely_ fucked in the head,” he hums into Wooyoung’s ear, wrapping the measuring tape snugly around his waist. “And, to answer your previous question, I _don’t_ get off on being smacked around.” The hairs at the nape of Wooyoung’s neck stand up straight, and he holds his breath. The measuring tape falls lower as it’s moved to his hips.

He hears San make a noise of approval.

“What?” he demands.

“You’ve just got a _fat_ fucking ass, that’s all.” A pencil scratches against the notepad. “It’s sexy.”

_Jesus fucking christ._

“A-are we done here?” Wooyoung presses, an uncomfortable heat rising in his neck and ears.

“ _Relax,_ princess, just a couple more measurements.” Wooyoung squeezes his eyes shut and holds his tongue because clearly nothing he’s said has proven to be beneficial so far. _In two three four, hold two three four, out two thr_ —

“What the _fuck?!_ ” Wooyoung’s hands fly up to his throat when he feels San loosely pulling the measuring tape around it. A moment passes, then it’s gone.

“Oh my god— _calm down,_ ” San all but _growls_. “The neck measurement’s for the collar.”

Wooyoung inwardly groans. Right. _The collar_.

San steps back and dangles the now-closed notepad between his thumb and pointer finger in front of Wooyoung. “ _Now_ ,” he smiles coyly, “we’re done here.” San collects the discarded hoodie from the floor and tosses it his way. With that, he struts past, but not before landing a harsh _smack_ on Wooyoung’s ass.

Humiliation—and a certain level of arousal that he’d rather _not_ admit to—burns on the surface of his skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, kudos and comments are much appreciated (and very motivating.)
> 
> please subscribe if you'd like to be notified of future updates!!
> 
> xo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the long wait... school's been a lot !!!! if you're still here, then i hope you enjoy the update. look out for the added tags. <3

To Wooyoung’s utter dismay, his new “uniform” fits him perfectly. But the worst part of it all? He actually kind of _likes it_.

He’s alone in the boudoir, twisting and turning as he takes the dress in from every angle his neck can manage. Seonghwa had offered to help Wooyoung get the thing on, “zip him up,” and all that, but with a touch of heat on the apples of his cheeks, he’d politely declined. Way too embarrassing. _And intimate._

There’s a knock.

“How’s it going in there?” Seonghwa calls, voice muffled through the door. “Does everything fit comfortably?”

_Unfortunately._

“Ah, yes, it fits great!” Wooyoung responds, his eyes still trained on his reflection in the mirror. He flicks at the small silver bell on his collar and audibly gulps when it jingles. Suddenly, his skin’s feeling uncomfortably warm.

“That’s wonderful,” comes Seonghwa’s semi-muted voice, again. “May I come in and take a look?”

Wooyoung takes a moment to square his shoulders, to psyche himself up, to fucking _breathe_. He clears his throat with a soft cough, then puts on his best customer service voice.

“Of course!”

The door creaks open almost immediately. Seonghwa strides in, confident as ever, as a single bead of sweat drips down the divot between Wooyoung’s shoulder blades.

“Oh, _wow_ ,” Seonghwa breathes, eyes alight as he claps his hands together in approval. “Wooyoung, it looks absolutely _stunning_ on you.” He takes a moment to do a full 360 viewing, Wooyoung standing stiff as a statue. He makes a mental note to ask Hongjoong where the AC controls are. Once Seonghwa’s had an absolute _eyeful_ , he grins, a nearly wild look on his face.

“Really, Wooyoung,” he assures, “it’s perfect on you.” He rests a gentle hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder. “I’ll have to thank Sannie for doing such a great job with the measurements.”

Wooyoung feels his skin crawl.

-

Seonghwa sets out for his extended business trip that evening, leaving Wooyoung alone with Hongjoong and Yeosang. (And with _San_ , of course, but Wooyoung’s trying not to think about that little shithead more than necessary.) After saying his goodbyes to his father, San had quietly retreated up to his bedroom. 

_Probably to plot something_ , Wooyoung thinks with a grimace.

“Alright, I’m gonna get a headstart on the laundry,” Hongjoong says, interrupting Wooyoung’s train of thought.

“Mm, good idea,” Yeosang responds. “Wooyoung, want to help me with dinner? I can start teaching you some tricks.”

Wooyoung’s ears perk up at the sound of _that_.

“Yeah, that sounds perfect!”

-

Yeosang’s in the middle of giving Wooyoung some vegetable chopping tips when they hear the security alarm at the door ring. _Did Seonghwa forget something?_

“ _Sa-a-an!_ ”

That was definitely _not_ Seonghwa. Wooyoung looks up at Yeosang as panic begins to set in. “Yeosang, _who the fuck was that?_ ”

“ _We’re getting a snack real quick, okay?_ ” A second voice.

The two _intruders_ then decide to stride into the kitchen as if they live there themselves. It’s two guys: one ridiculously tall and the other a bit shorter, but they appeared to be around the same age. Their outfits _screamed_ frat boy.

“San’s best friends,” Yeosang finally tells Wooyoung, voice hushed. “Chanyeol and Jaehyun.”

The tall one— _Chanyeol_ —swings open the fridge, humming as he decides on what to fucking _steal_. While he’s preoccupied with what appears to be one of the most difficult decisions of his life, Jaehyun turns around to acknowledge Yeosang and Wooyoung.

“Oh, hey maids,” he says simply.

It suddenly makes _perfect_ sense that these are the type of guys that San would be friends with. Jaehyun points a finger straight at Wooyoung.

“Oh, you’re the new one, right?” He smiles, but it doesn't reach his eyes. “San’s mentioned you and your, ah, _assets_.”

Yeosang urgently clears his throat before Wooyoung can lunge at this guy and rip his fucking _intestines_ out from of his gut.

“Guys, this is Wooyoung,” he says cautiously. Chanyeol finally turns around, holding what appears to be a container of leftovers, and heads for the microwave. He presses the reheat button, leans back against the kitchen island, then rakes his eyes up and down Wooyoung’s entire body as slowly as possible.

“ _Oh_ , San was right,” is all Chanyeol says before settling his gaze on Wooyoung’s lips. He’s got a sleazy look set on his face, and Wooyoung wants to _gag_.

“Well, I’ll skip the formalities since the two of you did,” Wooyoung starts, arms crossed tightly in annoyance. “I’m not a fucking piece of meat, and I’m definitely not _your_ fucking maid. You’re not the ones paying me, so don’t expect me to be nice if you’re gonna act like _that_.” He huffs, eyes wide.

“Shit,” Chanyeol says, “San was like, _totally_ right.”

“Holy _fuck_ , were you even listening?” Wooyoung blurts out.

Jaehyun holds up his hands in a poor attempt at a surrender. “Loud and clear, Wooyoungie.”

The microwave beeps, Chanyeol retrieves the container, and the two of them make their way upstairs.

-

Later on in the evening, Wooyoung hears a whistle as he passes by San’s open bedroom door on his way to bring down the trash from the bathroom. He feels his eye twitch as he sets his jaw, then promptly turns to meet San’s eyes.

“Yes?” Wooyoung asks, his voice saturated in faux concern. San smirks and gestures for Wooyoung to enter the room. Wooyoung’s getting paid for this shit, so he complies. The bedroom reeks of weed and stale liquor, and he grimaces as the realization that _he’ll_ have to scrub this place down hits him. Dirty clothes are strewn across the floor, along with at least a dozen crushed beer cans and empty water bottles. Wooyoung notices several empty containers similar to the one Chanyeol had brought upstairs sitting idly on top of San’s desk. It’s a fucking _pigsty._

Wooyoung hopes he doesn’t look as nervous as he feels as he passes over the threshold because Chanyeol and Jaehyun are staring him down with just as much intensity as San is. Holding his gaze steady, he mentally locks away _any_ weakness he’s got left in an imaginary box and throws away the fucking key. _It’s always been all about the mind games._

“You need something?” Wooyoung snarls, arms crossed defiantly over the slutty little _boob window_ on his dress. Jaehyun drops a lighter in San’s outstretched hand so he can light the bowl in the other. He inhales, flutters his eyes shut, then exhales before finally answering the question. 

“Well, I was just wondering,” San drawls, smoke curling out from the corners of his lips, “but where’s the rest of your uniform, maid?”

Wooyoung’s free hand flies up to the top of his (bare) head, and _yeah_ , there’s not a single _clip-on cat ear_ up there. He must’ve forgotten to put them back after he’d fixed his hair up earlier. Then it dawns on him.

“Did you hide my fucking _cat ears_?”

Chanyeol laughs with so much fucking _force_ that he quite literally flings himself off from the side of San’s bed. Jaehyun just clamps his hand over his mouth to muffle himself. Wooyoung’s eyes dart around the room rapidly before finally settling back on the presumed culprit. _Shit_ , his face is fucking _burning._

Of course, San just looks _oh-so proud_ of himself.

“Alright, _fuckass_ ,” Wooyoung says with a pointed look. “Where are they? Because you and I _both_ know that I need those things _on my head_ if I wanna make rent on time.”

San glances upwards and tilts his head theatrically as if he’s _re-e-eally_ trying to remember where he’d hidden the things. Wooyoung thinks he looks so baked that maybe he _doesn’t_.

“I can’t seem to remember,” he says, plain and simple. “But… _maybe_ you should check under the dresser.”

Chanyeol’s still _cackling_ on the floor.

The dresser San’s referring to only has about three and a half inches of space between its bottom and the wooden floor. Wooyoung grimaces because he knows what this is really about. He’s finally starting to understand the rules of this little _game_ that San so clearly loves to play.

“You just want me on all fours with my _fat fucking ass_ up in the air,” Wooyoung states. It’s not a question; it’s an _accusation_. San looks stunned for about half a second before he offers a response.

“You learn quick.”

Wooyoung huffs loudly before turning and dropping to his knees. His ears burn as he feels not just one pair of eyes on him, but _three_.

“Touch me, and I’ll rip your fucking dick off with my _teeth_.”

Cheek squished to the floor, Wooyoung blindly feels underneath the dresser for anything that feels soft and fluffy. It doesn’t take long for the wolf whistles to start.

_Shit, are they even under here?_

Wooyoung presses his chest deeper into the floor to push his arm further underneath the dresser. At this point, there’s no way his ass _isn’t_ on full display, but that’s a bridge he’ll cross when he gets to it.

Then he feels them.

Grunting happily, Wooyoung closes his fist around the two ears and slides his arm out. He sits back on his heels with a huff, relieved. They’re a little dusty, but at least they’re not _broken_.

“Fuck all of you,” he declares as he swiftly leaves that disaster of a room.

Wooyoung thinks he hears Jaehyun say something along the lines of _“we wish!”_ but chooses to ignore it. There’s only so much he can deal with in one night.

-

“We’re planning a big party, you know,” San says the next morning as he sips the coffee Hongjoong had made for him. “Me, Chanyeol, and Jaehyun. It’ll be this Friday.”

Wooyoung looks up from the banana he’s currently slicing for San’s oatmeal. He wishes he was cutting up a _different_ phallic object.

“That sounds fucking terrible,” he says, then gets right back to slicing.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” San quips, leaning forward on the counter. “It’ll be fucking _great_. Aren’t you excited to work your first party here? If you’re extra nice, maybe I’ll give you a tip.”

Wooyoung makes a fake gagging noise.

“San,” Hongjoong begs, “go easy on him _, please_.”

“It hasn’t even been a week,” Yeosang pipes in.

Being the drama queen he is, San just sulks, _groans_ , and throws himself back into his chair. 

Wooyoung slides the cutting board with the banana slices over to Yeosang so he can finish up the oatmeal. He adds a few cinnamon shakes along with a teaspoon of honey before placing the bowl in front of San.

“Really, Wooyoung,” San says, grinning. “Look forward to it.”

Wooyoung dreads the arrival of Friday night with every fiber of his being.

-

Yeah, it’s a _really_ crazy party. 

At least two-hundred college kids are at the house, and while Wooyoung doesn’t recognize _most_ of them, there’s at least a handful that he knows he must’ve shared a lecture or two with before.

Hongjoong and Yeosang have dealt with San’s house parties in the past, so they didn’t appear to be too phased being in uniform in front of so many judgemental eyes. But Wooyoung? He wishes the floor would fucking _swallow him_ . San’s got the three of them walking around offering drinks and snacks to guests in “true maid-fashion,” as he’d said earlier. It’s _degrading_.

“Holy shit, _Wooyoung?!_ ” He stops dead in his tracks.

 _Oh, fuck no._ That voice sounded _suspiciously_ like…

Wooyoung slowly turns around, and his suspicions are immediately confirmed.

“Mingi, Yunho,” he gulps. “Ah, hey!”

Mingi _immediately_ bursts into laughter, clutching at his chest as if he can’t breathe. Yunho looks vaguely pale.

“Oh my god, _dude_ , what the fuck?” Mingi manages out between bouts of laughter. “Explain this,” _the dress,_ “right now.”

He was _totally_ making a scene.

“Okay, okay,” Wooyoung grumbles, smacking Mingi on the arm. “Can we go somewhere else? People are staring.”

Wooyoung places his silly little “serving tray” down before grabbing each of his _dimwit_ friends by their wrists and dragging them out the side door. The nighttime air is refreshing on his flushed skin and immediately settles his nerves.

Just for a moment, though.

Yunho and Mingi are eyeing him expectantly, and suddenly Wooyoung’s feeling a bit overheated again. He slips a finger underneath his collar in a poor attempt to _breathe better_.

“It’s my new job,” he starts, lamely. “I found San’s dad on Craigslist, and I guess it’s pretty obvious, but the guy’s _loaded_ . I originally thought it would just be a housekeeping gig, but he offered me some _significant_ bonuses if I, you know…”

Wooyoung vaguely gestures at his _ensemble_. He can feel himself blushing down to his chest.

_This is so fucking mortifying._

“Don’t like, worry or anything…” he continues, eyes downcast. “This part’s completely optional, and it’s not like I have to do anything sexual with the guy. I needed the extra money, so it was kind of a no-brainer, I guess.”

 _Silence_.

“Holy _shit_ , can one of you say so—”

“You look good in it, Wooyoung!”

_What?_

Yunho’s looking at him with fucking stars in his eyes, and he’s _genuine._ Mingi snickers but nods in agreement.

“Yeah,” Mingi smiles, “I don’t think either one of us is judging you here, dude.”

“Oh,” Wooyoung deflates a bit as the anxiety vacates his body. “Well, that went better than expected.”

Mingi almost looks offended. “Are you kidding? You _really_ thought we’d have an issue with this?” He crosses his arms. “With you making fucking bank _and_ looking damn cute while doing it?!”

“Please, _please_ shut the fuck up. I get it now, I get it,” Wooyoung hides his face in his hands. It’s embarrassing, but he’s definitely grateful. “But wait, you guys know San?”

They shake their heads no in unison.

“Friend of a friend invited us,” Yunho says.

“ _Good,_ ” Wooyoung sneers. “I would’ve had to beat the fucking _shit_ out of you if either of you were actually friends with that asshole.”

Mingi laughs easily and takes a swig of his beer. “The guy’s a shitbag? That makes sense. Most of those rich bastards are.” He ruffles Wooyoung’s hair, careful not to mess up the cat ears.

Again, it’s embarrassing, but he appreciates it.

“Let’s go back inside,” Wooyoung says, turning back to the door. “San’s gonna get annoyed if he notices I’m not like… ‘ _maid-ing_ ’ properly.”

-

He’s awkwardly circling the perimeter of the pool, donning a silver tray in his hand, when he hears someone call for him.

“Wooyoung!”

He snaps his head towards the direction of the voice. He zeros in on San, arms crossed as he leans up over the ledge of the pool. The movement of the water has shadows dancing across his face, his chest, his fucking _arms_. He’s golden even in the muted light. Somehow, it feels dangerous.

But again, Wooyoung’s _pissed_ at how blessed this asshole was in the looks department.

_Undeserving bastard._

Droplets of water slip down over San’s collarbones, down the slope of those broad shoulders, as he waits for Wooyoung’s response. He pushes back his hair, slick from the water, and Wooyoung gulps. He heads over, the air surrounding him thick with that ever-present sense of humiliation. He knows people are looking at him, knows they have been _all fucking night_.

The skirt of his dress bounces with each step. 

He feels like a schoolgirl on his way to talk to her crush for the first time. Except Wooyoung doesn’t have a crush on San— _not possible_ —not in this lifetime and not in the one after that. He’s hot, but Wooyoung would rather _die_ than date him. He forces the idea to the back of his head.

“Yeah?” Wooyoung asks, pretending to be uninterested. He still fucking _hates_ San, regardless of how unfairly sexy he might be.

“Be a good little servant and get me another drink,” he says, holding an empty beer bottle out. Wooyoung frowns as he crouches down, level with San.

“Can’t you just do something for yourself for once?” he hisses through gritted teeth.

“But _you’re_ the maid,” San says, head cocked to the side. “And _you’re_ the one getting _my_ _daddy’s money.”_

Before Wooyoung can react, San’s got a hand wrapped around each of his ankles, and he _tugs_.

Wooyoung coughs and sputters, pool water spewing from his mouth as he gasps for air. The wet fabric of his dress clings to every curve and dip of his body, sheathing him like a leather glove. He glances down, and if he’d thought things couldn’t have gotten more humiliating, _they just did._ Wooyoung’s nipples are painfully apparent through the white fabric on his chest. They look like they’re moments away from _slicing through the fucking dress_.

San’s about to fucking _die_.

Wooyoung lunges forward in the water, the weight of the now-soaked uniform slowing him down considerably. The skirt sloshes uncomfortably around the circumference of his waist as he pushes forward, determination and rage boiling red-hot deep within his gut. With a hand on either side of San’s shoulders, Wooyoung shoves the fucker _straight down._

Again, he knows people are looking. (They have been, _all night._ )

It turns out San’s just as strong as he looks when Wooyoung struggles to hold him beneath the water’s surface. Only a moment passes before San’s back up, crowding into Wooyoung’s space, into the side of the pool. Wooyoung vaguely registers the sounds of people hollering and cheering, of someone chanting _fight fight fight!_

“You looked kinda hot out there,” San breathes, eyes wild. The pads of his fingers press indents into Wooyoung’s biceps. Something about it burns, stings, makes it harder to breathe. “You’ve been working _so_ _hard_ all night, so I figured you might’ve wanted to go for a swim.”

Wooyoung can only stare at his perpetrator incredulously. He can physically feel the dozens of eyes on the two of them, but at the same time, he can only _really_ perceive San and the way the water’s dripping from the tips of his bangs. The way he can feel his breath grazing his cheeks in small, warm puffs.

“I’m soaked, you fucking _asshole_.”

“Pity,” San taunts.

“San, _really?_ ” It’s Hongjoong. Wooyoung strains his neck to peer over his shoulder, and there he is, his _angel_ of a coworker. He looks a bit out of breath as if he’d just sprinted over to the pool, but his eyes are nervous.

“Seriously,” he grumbles, “I told you to tone it down a notch.” Hongjoong crouches—much like Wooyoung had just seconds ago—and holds out a hand. “Come on, Woo. We’ll get your clothes in the dryer, okay?”

San laughs dryly before finally detaching himself from Wooyoung.

“I’ll take care of it, Hongjoong,” he says. “I mean, I’m the one who got him all soaked, right?”

Hongjoong eyes him with suspicion, then glances back to Wooyoung as if to wordlessly ask: _Is this okay?_

Wooyoung doesn’t fucking care. He just wants some _dry fucking clothes._

-

Wooyoung sulks harder with each step, the wet fabric heavy and unpleasant on his damp skin. It’s getting later, and that means it’s getting colder, too. Wooyoung shivers, but the heat of humiliation washes over him for the umpteenth time moments later. He’s not too cold anymore as he stares daggers into the back of San’s head.

Anger’s red, warm.

They finally stop in front of one of the closet doors in the basement. San opens up the door, grabs a purple polka-dotted towel, and drops it into Wooyoung’s arms.

“You know,” he says matter-of-factly, “I think I like that dress even more like _this_.”

Wooyoung immediately holds the towel up against his chest. Since it’s gotten colder, the whole _nipple predicament_ has also gotten worse. His face heats up when he notices San shamelessly staring at where he’s holding the towel.

“You’re such a fucking pig,” Wooyoung seethes, turning away. “Also, I need to get my other clothes since _someone_ thought it would be funny to try and _drown me_.”

“It was definitely worth it,” San hums. “I’ll grab your clothes, so just wait here.”

 _Suspicious_.

San’s definitely up to no good because based on Wooyoung’s brief experience of knowing him, he’s _always_ up to no good. Despite it all, he stays quiet and watches San ascend the basement stairs to do something _nice_ , presumably.

Yeah, he’s definitely gonna pull _something_.

Wooyoung’s in the middle of helping himself to a second towel for his hair when he hears footsteps again. He looks up to find San holding out what’s _definitely_ not the jeans and hoodie he arrived wearing. Upon closer inspection, it looks like he’s holding _pajamas_.

“Sweatpants, a t-shirt, my _favorite_ hoodie,” San pauses to think. “Oh, _and_ some fuzzy socks.” He hands the pile of clothing out towards Wooyoung, and it feels strangely like some sort of _peace offering_.

“What’s your game here?” _There’s gotta be a catch_.

San smiles with considerably less arrogance than usual. “No game this time, Wooyoung,” he counters. “You looked cold. My dad wouldn’t be too happy if I let the new hire get sick, right? Plus, I don’t think your _landlord_ would be too happy either.”

Wooyoung ignores the way he knows his face is flushing and grabs the bundle of fabric.

“...Okay.”

San simply nods before starting to walk off. “You’re off the clock for the rest of the night,” he calls over his shoulder. “I’ll tell Hongjoong and Yeosang. I was serious about not wanting you to get sick, so I’ll see you tomorrow.”

A moment later, San’s gone. Wooyoung drops his dress in the dryer before slipping out the backdoor and starting his car.

-

Wooyoung had driven home that night wearing an outfit entirely composed of _San’s clothing_ . It was _disgusting_ how nice the clothes smelled. He blamed that part on Hongjoong since he was usually in charge of laundry.

But the most nauseating part of it all was that San had actually done something _nice_ for him.

_Am I just so used to being treated like shit, and that’s why something this fucking small is making me sweat?_

Wooyoung tried not to dwell on it, especially after arriving back at the house the next morning. His stomach churned upon the realization that the place was _spotless_.

_Fuck. Hongjoong and Yeosang had to clean up everything themselves after I left._

That’s when Yeosang rounds the corner.

“Wooyoung! You okay?” He rushes forward and presses the back of his hand to Wooyoung’s forehead. “No cold, right?”

Wooyoung stifles a laugh as he gently pushes Yeosang’s arm away. “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He pauses as the guilt hits him even harder. “I’m sorry I left early last night and couldn’t help clean up.”

Yeosang scoffs. “Oh, shut the fuck up. It’s fine.” He starts walking, Wooyoung trailing behind him into the kitchen. “Really. We just wanted to make sure you didn’t get sick,” he wavers. “San included.”

Right, the cause of this whole fucking mess.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung says softly.

-

“You know,” San says from outside the bathroom door, “you _could_ just show up in uniform each day rather than changing here.”

“Are you fucking _dumb_ ?” Wooyoung asks as he adjusts his left cat ear. “In case you forgot, I had to leave everything here last night to dry. And even under normal circumstances, I can’t leave my place wearing… _all this_.” He does a once over in the mirror before deciding everything’s up to par and opens the door. Wooyoung drops a plastic bag containing the borrowed pajamas on the living room couch. 

San just hums.

“Well,” he starts, “today, we’ll be sending a video or two for my dad along with the regular photos.” San grabs a roll of paper towels along with a spray bottle of glass cleaner and hands it out to Wooyoung.

“Go over to that window and start wiping it clean,” he says, “and make sure you put on a good show.”

Wooyoung huffs, irritable, as he snatches the cleaning materials from San’s grasp and turns on his heel. He stalks over to the largest window in the living room, the one that stretches from floor to ceiling, and gets right to it. He wishes he could say it was shocking that San had so quickly snapped back to his normal asshole behavior, but it wasn’t. If anything, it was just another _big_ _disappointment_ in the sad, sad life of Jung Wooyoung.

“And _action,_ ” San murmurs. The smirk in his voice sends a shiver up Wooyoung’s spine.

San shuts up for a few moments while Wooyoung quietly wipes away fingerprints and dust from the glass, but San’s obviously never been too good at keeping his mouth shut for extended periods of time.

“You missed a spot,” he pipes up. “Down there, towards the bottom corner.”

Wooyoung scoffs. 

The spot that San’s referring to would require Wooyoung to get on the floor to reach it. It suddenly becomes apparent that this particular video isn’t going to be sent to Seonghwa. San unquestionably wanted this one for his _own_ little collection. Wooyoung tosses the spray bottle and roll of paper towels on the floor nearby before slowly dropping to his knees.

 _Fuck it_. 

San wants a show? He’ll get one, then. _Payback._

Wooyoung crawls forward on his forearms, allowing his knees to naturally spread, for the front of his hips to sink deeper into the hardwood. It’s eerily reminiscent of the situation a few days prior when San had him fishing for his stupid little cat ears from underneath his dresser. Dipping his chest lower to allow his back to arch in the way he _knows_ looks pretty, Wooyoung reaches for the spray to start cleaning up that “spot” he’d so foolishly “missed” in the first place. As he arches a bit further, he feels the bottom hem of his dress slip above the curve of his ass.

In any other circumstance, Wooyoung imagines that putting himself on display like this would be utterly _humiliating_ ; it _definitely_ was the first time. But for some reason, the knowledge of San’s camera pointed directly at him makes his skin prickle with a different type of heat.

It’s not embarrassing; _it’s exhilarating._

He bites at the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling too openly. Maybe Wooyoung was enjoying himself _a bit_ more than he’d anticipated, but San didn’t need to know that.

(At least not yet.)

With his _bare fucking ass_ displayed in front of San like a shiny golden prize, Wooyoung figures he’s got nothing much left to lose.

“Remember what I said the last time you got me on my knees?” Wooyoung wipes at the glass, polishing over a spot that’s clearly already clean.

“Touch me, and I’ll rip your dick off with my teeth,” he breathes. “And I’m serious, San. I’ll scream, I’ll call the cops, call your _father_ , I’ll fucking _kill_ _you_ before you touch me without my permission first.” Wooyoung turns his head to look at San, cheek pressed into the floor. His eyes flicker down to the crotch of San’s sweatpants for half a second before he opens his mouth again, satisfied.

“Got it?” Wooyoung continues. “Look all you want, but you can’t touch me. That’s what you get for the utter _bullshit_ you put me through last night.”

San’s tongue darts out between his lips. He’s got a hazy look in his eyes, but he’s still holding the phone steady, catching it all on video.

“Yeah,” he says lamely, “got it.”

Wooyoung hums in confirmation before finishing up the window. Once it’s sparkling, he stands back up to face San, to face the camera.

“I already know that’s not going to your dad, so take some photos, too. I need to get paid this week.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> somethin tells me i might be upping the rating next chapter


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!  
> a few things:  
> the rating has Not yet gone up for this chapter... oops. (be patient.) sorry for the slow updates, im a college student!!! however, look forward to 1 or 2 more chapters. i think. anways, prepare for a bit of light angst today…this IS meant to be a Slow Burn, after all.

As Wooyoung walks through the door the following morning, San’s walking out.

“You’re up early,” Wooyoung observes. “Where are you going?”

San’s dressed casually, donning a plain black tee shirt with a light jacket and jeans. He _scowls_ , shoves his hands deeper into his jacket pockets, and turns on his heel.

“I’ve got shit to do,” he says simply, heading towards his car. “Don’t you, too? Get inside.”

Wooyoung scoffs. He’s toeing off his sneakers in the front hall as he hears San’s engine start up.

_What the fuck crawled up his ass and died?_

San was proving to be more unpredictable than Wooyoung had initially thought. He decides to put it to the back of his mind as he changes into his uniform and attempts to tame those unruly bits of his hair.

But, if San was out, who would be taking his photo for Seonghwa today? For a brief moment, he considers changing back into his regular clothes, but that thought’s interrupted by a quick rap on the bathroom door.

“Wooyoung?”

It was Hongjoong.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Wooyoung calls back, adjusting his collar. “I’m coming out in like, four seconds.” He opens the door to find Hongjoong looking kind of frazzled.

“Uh, are you okay?”

“Did you and San fight?” Hongjoong questions, voice laced with urgency.

“We fight like, all the time,” Wooyoung points out.

“No—like, I _know_ that, but,” Hongjoong pauses. “He seemed really pissed when he left just now. Did you see him?”

Wooyoung nods. “Yeah, he _definitely_ seemed to be in a shit mood,” he agrees with a humorless laugh. “Why are you so freaked out, though?”

Hongjoong sighs and leans against the wall, dejected.

“I don’t know,” he sulks. “He just never really gets like… _that_.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry, forget about it,” Hongjoong backtracks. “I don’t mean to freak you out. I’m probably just overreacting.” He pushes himself off the wall and turns towards the staircase.

“Let’s get to work upstairs! Oh, and I guess I’ll have to set a self-timer for our photos for Seonghwa today.”

There’s _that_ question answered.

-

“What the _fuck_ ,” Hongjoong deadpans. He’s standing completely still in the doorway to San’s bedroom.

“What?” Wooyoung asks, turning the corner to peek over Hongjoong’s shoulder. _Oh._ “No fucking way.”

 _Real mature_.

Based on the look of it, San had _deliberately_ destroyed his bedroom. Clothing—both dirty _and_ clean—littered the floors, drawers were pulled out from the dresser, and no sheets were left on the bed. Hongjoong points at the waste bin thrown haphazardly on the floor, leaving a trail of garbage, snack wrappers, and beer cans in its wake.

“Are you _sure_ you guys didn’t have a...” Hongjoong pauses, carefully choosing his words. “I don’t know… a _different_ kind of fight?”

Wooyoung looks from the beer can pile to Hongjoong, then back to the beer can pile.

“Wait,” Wooyoung says abruptly, looking back to Hongjoong once more. “Are you like, _accusing_ me of something?”

“Oh my god, _no_ , that’s not what this is about,” Hongjoong cracks back, frustrated. “Don’t take shit so personally. Can you just maybe, _think back_ , and tell me if something happened?”

Wooyoung thinks.

He thinks _really_ fucking hard. And finally, he comes up with something.

“ _Ooh_ ,” he hums, the lightbulb going off inside of his head.

“What did you do,” Hongjoong exhales.

“Hey, don’t assume this was all _my_ fault,” Wooyoung snaps, pointing a finger dramatically. “I was just...getting revenge, or something.”

“Well, it _clearly_ got to him,” Hongjoong shouts, gesturing around the room wildly. “So what the _fuck_ happened?!”

“Oh my god, _don’t_ yell at me, please,” Wooyoung whines.

“Christ—okay, sorry, _sorry_ ,” Hongjoong huffs. He sits himself down on the edge of San’s bare mattress and gives Wooyoung a pointed look. “Go ahead.”

Wooyoung hesitates awkwardly before stepping over the beer can pile, the clothes, all the _shit_ on the floor to sit down next to Hongjoong.

“He stole my cat ears and hid them—”

Hongjoong throws his face into his hands and _groans._

“What?!” Wooyoung bursts. “I _need_ these things,” he angrily points to the two fluffy ears clipped into his hair, “to like, _stay alive,_ and… buy groceries, and to pay my fucking _rent.”_

Hongjoong just stares at him, eyes about to glaze over.

“So _anyway_ ,” Wooyoung huffs. “He hid them under his dresser over there, so I had to, like, bend down with my ass in the air to get ‘em out. And Chanyeol and Jaehyun were there, _too._ It was so fucking humiliating. So the day after the party, he was bossing me around again while I was cleaning the big window in the living room. I kind of… gave him a little show, I guess, but told him he couldn’t touch me…”

He trails off, embarrassed. _Why did I do that?!_

“You’re telling me that your _literal_ _ass_ is the reason why San threw a temper tantrum?” Hongjoong asks, uncomfortably straight-faced.

“Well, I can’t think of any _other_ ideas,” Wooyoung whines, folding in on himself. “Can _you?_ ”

Hongjoong drapes his arm around Wooyoung’s hunched shoulders, sighing for the umpteenth time that morning. “You’re fucked up, and like, kinda crazy,” he says. “But, you _do_ have a great ass. I think it’s making San’s brain go a little bit haywire.”

“The fuck’s that mean?” Wooyoung laments, voice muffled by his own lap.

“Honestly, I think San likes you more than he thought he did, and now he’s all freaked out about it.”

_Likes me?!_

“God, _what?!_ ” Wooyoung shrieks, springing up from the mattress. “Don’t even say that. He just likes to toy with me.”

He paces as well as he can with the limited floor space. “And we _hate_ each other, remember?”

“Well, you think he’s hot, right?” Hongjoong presses on, undeterred.

“Why the _fuck_ would you think that?” Wooyoung sputters, appalled and, quite frankly, _humiliated._ He can tell by the heat rising to the surface of his skin that his flushed face was about to give him away.

“Okay, so _that’s_ confirmed,” Hongjoong says mirthfully, cracking a sly smile.

“You know,” Wooyoung objects. “You’re like…way more evil than you look.”

“Thanks.”

The two of them stare at each other in a tense silence, and Wooyoung can _tell_ that Hongjoong’s just waiting for him to snap and say it. But to admit it out loud? That would make it _way_ too real. Hongjoong crosses his legs and leans forward, squinting his eyes at Wooyoung, scrutinizing him.

If Wooyoung was the barn mouse, then Hongjoong was the fucking owl.

“Okay!” Wooyoung finally groans. “You’re _right._ I think he’s hot. I think he’s _really_ fucking hot, and I definitely wouldn’t mind if he _continued_ to boss me around and shit. Are you fucking _satisfied_ now?”

“Very,” Hongjoong snickers. “But honestly, I’ve worked in this house for about two years now, and I’ve never seen San act like this. He’ll bring people home now and then, but it’s always just a quick fuck. Come to think of it; I’ve _never_ seen the faces of any of his hookups more than once.”

Something about the thought of San fucking some random stranger into the mattress he’d _just_ been having a mental breakdown on makes Wooyoung’s skin crawl, but not because he’s skeeved out. _He’s_ _jealous._ And something about that is even _worse._

“You’re making a face,” Hongjoong points out.

“Shut the fuck up,” Wooyoung shoots back. “ _I know._ ”

“So, you gonna tell him?” Hongjoong continues.

What a _stupid_ question. Wouldn’t he lose this job? Isn’t entertaining San’s _father_ and appealing to his less-than-normal fetishes, like, _half_ of the reason he’s getting paid such a large sum of money to begin with?

_I can’t lose such a massive amount of income just for some dick._

“I’d lose this job,” Wooyoung tells Hongjoong pointedly. He decides that now’s a better time than any to start cleaning up San’s little temper tantrum and busies himself folding the shirts closest to his feet.

“I mean, I don’t know about that.”

Wooyoung doesn’t respond until he’s finished neatly folding at least three of the shirts. He carefully slides them into San’s dresser drawer, then slowly turns around.

“What do you mean?” He asks, still guarded.

“I _mean_ ,” Hongjoong starts, “that Seonghwa _really_ likes me.”

 _No shit_ , Wooyoung thinks as he recalls his first time meeting Hongjoong. The way he and Seonghwa had interacted had been quite… telling, to say the least.

“If he found anything out about you two and for some reason _really_ didn’t like it, it wouldn’t take much effort on my end to change his mind. Besides, I don’t think he’d even care.”

Wooyoung continues stress folding, overwhelmingly aware of Hongjoong’s gaze never leaving him. Once he’s got a section of the floor cleared and a drawer filled, he clears his throat.

“I’ll think about it.”

-

When San comes home that night, he’s clearly both plastered _and_ cranky. Wooyoung watches with caution from a distance, Yeosang trailing behind him, as he clumsily kicks off his sneakers with one hand propped against the door to keep himself upright. Once he manages to get both of his shoes untied, San shrugs his jacket off and allows it to tumble unceremoniously onto the tile floor. He stumbles—yet still manages to stomp—all the way over to the nearest couch and flings himself down, face first. Then he groans, _loudly._ Wooyoung stifles a laugh at the pathetic sight playing out in front of him.

_A grown man is throwing a drunken temper tantrum inside of his 80 million dollar mansion._

“Woo-o-y-o-oung!” San suddenly slurs into the pillow. Wooyoung _immediately_ stops laughing and glances at Yeosang in panic.

“What the fuck?” He mouths, nearly soundless. Yeosang shrugs, equally dumbfounded.

“ _Woo-you-u-ung..._ ” San continues, voice irritating and nasally. Yeosang shoves Wooyoung in San’s direction, offering an encouraging nod, and he braces himself. His encounter with Hongjoong that morning still had him feeling nervous and on edge. Only the two of them knew about that little predicament; Yeosang was still in the dark. Now, Wooyoung thinks, is certainly _not_ the time to bring his other coworker up to date on the latest workplace drama, so he sucks it up.

“You alright, San?” Wooyoung asks, ignoring the way his knees feel a bit weak.

“ _So-o-ore,_ ” San supplies in a whiney voice, dragging out the ‘oh’ sound. “Sore and fuggin’ _pissed off!_ ”

Wooyoung’s gives himself a moment to figure out how the fuck he’s supposed to deal with this. He glances back at Yeosang, who’s still peering around the wall, for some sort of assistance.

“Ask what happened,” Yeosang mouths. Wooyoung huffs and rubs his face, dejected. This should _not_ be part of his job description, but alas. He offhandedly wonders how San even got home tonight, given he'd taken his car that morning.

“Well,” Wooyoung starts, carefully sitting down on the edge of the couch. He awkwardly pats San’s leg in some lame attempt at comforting the other. “What happened? Why are you mad?” He pauses. “And why are you so drunk? And, ah, sore?”

“ _I’m fuggin’ sore because I’m fuggin’ dru-u-unk!_ ”

Wooyoung worried that this was about to become a long night of babysitting.

“Okay, yeah, _got it_ ,” Wooyoung responds in the same sort of tone you’d use with an upset child. “So what got you so mad?” Silence. It’s quiet for so long that Wooyoung thinks San’s fallen asleep, so he tries again. “Are you aw—”

“I’m mad at _you_.”

Oh. _What?_

“ _Me?_ ” Wooyoung asks.

“Yeah,” San huffs into the pillow, his body deflating a bit after confessing what had him all worked up. “So, gimme a massage. Sore ‘cause I’m drunk, and I’m drunk ‘cause I fuggin’ hate you.”

Wooyoung just stares at San’s barely conscious body.

“ _Ple-e-ase!!_ ”

“Holy _fuck_ , okay, just stop fucking _whining_ ,” Wooyoung snaps, fingers flying to San’s shoulders. He looks to see if Yeosang’s still nearby, and he’s not.

_That fucker._

Snippets of his earlier conversation with Hongjoong infiltrate his mind again, and Wooyoung wonders, in absolute _awe_ , how he’d managed to allow himself to fall for such a total _disaster_ of a human being. His boss's _son._ He grits his teeth and continues with the task at hand because he’s getting _paid_ , and there’s really nothing else he can do.

“You gonna tell me why you hate me so much when you sober up?” Wooyoung probes, digging his thumbs into San’s neck. “You were kind of a bitch to me this morning if you can recall.”

Drunk Boy lets out a long, drawn-out moan as Wooyoung works his fingers into a specific area of San’s neck, right below his hairline. He feels as San’s muscles contract underneath his hands, his skin burning hot. 

“I don’t hate you,” San breathes a bit unsteadily.

“Well, you just told me you did, like, ten seconds ago,” Wooyoung retorts.

“Shut up,” San murmurs in a voice that doesn’t even sound as if it belongs to him. Wooyoung frowns because San sounds so small, so _sad_ , but all he can think to do is drop his hands down lower, down to San’s mid-back.

“My shirt,” San stammers quickly. “It’s in the way, push it up.”

 _Honestly, I think he likes you more than he thought he did, and now he’s all freaked out about it,_ comes Hongjoong’s voice back inside his head, replaying as an agonizing loop. 

Wooyoung feels himself blush up to the tips of his ears and down to his chest. He thanks whatever higher being that might be in existence for the fact that San’s not only face-down but _also_ barely conscious.

“Whatever,” Wooyoung says, pretending that he’s not _totally_ overwhelmed. He pushes San’s t-shirt up his back to expose his back. 

San’s skin is soft and satin-like to the touch until he shifts. Wooyoung can feel the muscles—muscles that San is undoubtedly proud of—churn, stretch, and solidify just beneath the warm surface of his body. His back is littered with freckles that cluster handsomely across the expanse of his back as constellations. They congregate near the waistband of his jeans and over either shoulder, ultimately crawling up the right side of his neck. San’s toned, golden, with a tapered waist and strong shoulders; he looks like something far too pretty to be _so damn mean_.

Wooyoung mechanically works his fingertips back into San’s skin, into the kinks of his muscles. It’s quiet, save for the sounds of their breathing and the small satisfied groans occasionally escaping San’s chapped lips, still altogether muffled from the couch pillows.

“Thanks,” Drunk Boy mumbles into the leather.

Again, something about the way San had said the word strikes Wooyoung as profoundly sad, but he doesn’t dare pry further because he thinks he knows already.

(He hopes he does.)

The air feels humid and stagnant even with the air conditioner thrumming softly in the next room over, and Wooyoung thinks that San might think so too if the heat emanating from his back is anything to go off. He keeps his hands splayed across the bare skin, keeps moving his fingers until it feels wholly pre-programmed and robotic.

“Don’t worry about it,” Wooyoung hears himself say, but he feels like he’s not even inside his own body, as if he’s quietly watching the scene as a bystander at the edge of the room.

San’s either fallen asleep or is done speaking for the night.

-

It’s Thursday, around two in the afternoon, so theoretically, San should be in class. That means Wooyoung won’t be interrupted and can be in and out of San’s bedroom in no time, as long as he hasn’t been left with another “surprise,” or rather, some kind of petty attempt at revenge. Although Hongjoong had helped clean up the mess after their talk the other day, it’s something Wooyoung would rather avoid having to repeat again.

Yeah, Thursday afternoon.

So, Wooyoung opens the door to San’s bedroom without a second thought, broom in hand and a bottle of glass cleaner poking out from the pocket of his apron.

“ _Shit_ , you ever learn to knock?!”

Wooyoung blinks, eyes adjusting to the darkness of the room. He can scarcely make out the shapes of two people, one of them being a shirtless San, and the other is some guy who seems to have been busying himself with unbuckling San’s belt. The (also half-naked) stranger is so frozen in mortification that he still hasn’t moved his hands away, probably hasn’t even breathed. The broom Wooyoung had been holding drops to the floor and clatters noisily in the otherwise silent space. The sharp sound cuts through the air, prompts Wooyoung to do something, _say_ _something_ , because he’s just walked in on a moment that he definitely shouldn’t have.

He stupidly crouches down, shaky hands grabbing at the broom. “I thought you had class around this time on Thursdays,” Wooyoung murmurs, still crouching, and yet unable to look away from the bare plains of San’s chest. He tries quite adamantly to keep his eyes off of the nameless stranger.

“Well,” San spits. “I’m _obviously_ not fucking there right now, am I?”

Wooyoung swallows thickly, blinks a few times, and scratches at his head. He can hear the stranger start coughing awkwardly.

“Yeah,” Wooyoung agrees. “Obviously.”

He mutters a quiet apology for interrupting and says something about how he’ll come back later before backing out and shutting the door behind him. Then, Wooyoung takes a moment before finally walking off, _deadly_ quiet, downstairs to the furthest bathroom in the house from San’s bedroom.

Something didn’t feel right. It felt really fucking _horrible_ , actually. The moment Wooyoung shuts the bathroom door behind him, he slides down to the floor with a big, shaky exhale. Before he can mentally fend them off, he feels a throng of hot, thick tears trickle down either side of his face. Despite being alone, Wooyoung rubs at his eyes in embarrassment.

_Why can’t I stop crying?_

Wooyoung bites down harshly onto the meatiest part of his hand, to muffle himself, nervous that Hongjoong or Yeosang might hear him. The tears are fucking _incessant_ , so he thinks about Jongho like he always does in situations where he just can’t get his shit together. He spends the next ten minutes or so mentally coaching himself through the breathing exercises his roommate had taught him until he’s blotchy and red in the face, but at least no longer sobbing. Slowly, Wooyoung brings himself to his feet, leans against the sink counter, and takes a good, hard look at himself in the mirror.

He looks like shit.

Wooyoung thinks that if there were a visual definition in the Oxford Dictionary for a miserable, pathetic _jackass_ , he’d be it. After all, he’d caught his little crush—a fuckwad of a guy who treats him like utter _shit_ —in bed with some random _whore_ , and reacted with a twenty-minute-or-so crying episode. 

Maybe the guy San had been with wasn’t _actually_ a whore, but Wooyoung really didn’t have it in him to care. He was pissed, hurt, and truthfully, kind of heartbroken. If he wanted to be a resentful asshole towards a stranger, _he would be_.

Wooyoung scowls at his reflection because it was all _so_ fucking stupid. Once he’s sure that his face no longer gives away any signs of his little meltdown, he quietly opens the bathroom door and slips out.

“Hey.”

“ _Jesus fuck—!_ ” Wooyoung sputters in shock, hands clutching at his chest. When he looks up to see who the hell had scared him so badly, he sees none other than the Great Anonymous Whore himself. Despite the fact that his heart continues hammering on loudly inside his chest, Wooyoung narrows his eyes at the stranger coldly. He hopes the facade is believable.

“Were you, like, _waiting_ out here for me or something?” He sneers at the guy.

“I mean—no, not for long, or anything…” The stranger was visibly nervous, looking twitchy and overall _uncomfortable_.

Wooyoung was starting to lose his patience. “Well, what do you want?” He prompts, eyebrows arched condescendingly. Surprisingly, Mr. Anonymous Whore holds out his hand in greeting, head slightly bowed.

“I’m Jongin,” he says, directed more towards the floor rather than at Wooyoung. “I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier.”

_Apologize?_

He reaches out to shake Jongin’s hand, _weakly_ , because the poor guy was shaking like a leaf.

“Well, correct me if I’m wrong,” Wooyoung begins slowly, eyes narrowed. “But, in this type of scenario, shouldn’t _I_ be the one apologizing to _you_?” Jongin’s silent for a moment before he responds.

“It’s just that you seemed…really, uh, shaken up.”

Wooyoung hopes that the humiliation he feels from that (very accurate) observation isn’t showing _too_ blatantly on his face. He drops Jongin’s hand and fluffs out his skirt, like some sort of _bird_ puffing out his feathers to intimidate the rest of the damn flock.

“Whatever,” he huffs, crossing his arms indignantly. “You didn’t have to wait around to tell me that. Weren’t you two a bit _occupied_?”

“Uh, actually, San got mad at _me_ after you left,” Jongin says, and this piques Wooyoung’s interest. (Just a bit.) He gives the guy a look as if to say, _well, go on,_ with his eyes.

“Once you left the room, I tried to talk to him, and he basically just…told me to shut the fuck up. And then he started pacing around his room, like, totally _fuming_ , and threw some clothes on the ground,” Jongin pauses, frowning. “Any time I tried to calm him down, he’d just yell at me, so I figured I should probably leave. But I, uh, wanted to check on you first.”

“ _God_ ,” Wooyoung groans, sliding down against the wall. “Did you hear me crying? Is _that_ how you found me?” Jongin doesn’t audibly respond, but his face gives away that answer.

“This is like, such a _shitty_ fucking day.”

The two of them occupy a thick, uncomfortable silence for a beat or two longer before Jongin speaks up again. “I don’t mean to stick my nose in your business,” he starts, and Wooyoung internally rolls his eyes. “But, I’m assuming there’s something going on between you and San, right?”

Well, was there?

On paper, _fuck_ no. Wooyoung had just _barely_ come to accept that he actually had feelings for San. But besides all the weird, heated sexual _tension_ , the two of them had never talked about actually being interested in one another. San just didn’t feel attainable in that sense. In Wooyooung’s eyes, he wasn’t the type to stick with only _one_ partner, and besides, the two of them existed one two very separate planes of existence, _socially_ . He didn’t even want to _think_ about how many of his apartments could fit inside San’s place, how many earths could fit inside the sun.

_Am I fucking stupid? Why didn’t I realize any of this before?_

“Oh, _shit_ , I’m sorry,” Jongin suddenly sputters, pulling Wooyoung out of his second episode of extreme self-pity that day. If there were an award for moping and sulking, he’d win first place and leave the other competitors in the dust. 

“I didn’t mean to overstep.”

That’s when Wooyoung realizes he’s crying, _again_.

“I—I mean, is there anything I can do?” Jongin asks in a voice that implies he’s scared that Wooyoung might crumble. Given the context, it was a fair assumption.

“I feel so _stupid_ ,” Wooyoung finally sobs, squishing his face into his palms, jaw clenched. “Crying like this over a guy like _him_. What a fucking joke.”

“He _does_ kind of suck,” Jongin agrees offhandedly, and Wooyoung can’t help the bark of laughter that shoots from his throat. Jongin smiles at the reaction.

_Yeah, he definitely does._

Jongin slowly sits down next to Wooyoung, leans his back against the wall, and starts to fiddle with his hands nervously. Wooyoung appreciates the silent support from this now _pseudo-stranger_ as he mentally works through his breathing exercises for what feels like the hundredth time that day. Jongin really could’ve left at any point; he never even had to _face_ Wooyoung at all, but for some reason, he did. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he almost hopes that they can continue to get along and maybe become friends.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung offers in a quiet voice, once he’s finally settled down again. “For sitting around with me. You’re a nice guy.”

“It’s no problem,” Jongin replies, voice warm and smooth. “Are you a little better now?”

“Yeah, a bit.”

“That’s good, then.” Jongin stands up and reaches a hand down to Wooyoung, who takes it. “I should probably get going now… I’ve got some errands to do. But, uh, if it’s not too weird or anything, I can put my number in your phone if you need someone to talk to.”

“ _Definitely_ weird considering the circumstances,” Wooyoung muses lightly. “But, yeah, I think I’ll take you up on that. I appreciate it.”

Something about the guy felt safe, and his gut instinct told him it would be a good idea to keep him around. Jongin takes a moment to tap his number into Wooyoung’s phone contacts before the pair head upstairs to the front door. Wooyoung thanks him again, because he really _did_ feel lighter, like everything would work itself out. 

He doesn’t see San once the rest of the night, but it’s probably for the best. They’ll deal with that another day.

-

Wooyoung had gotten what he’d argue was one of the _best_ night’s sleeps of his entire life the night following the _incident_ . When he woke up, face glowing and eye bag-free, he chalked it up to that Jongin guy seriously being some type of earth-dwelling angel. It’s still early, so he takes his time in the cramped shower that he and Jongho share. Wooyoung’s normally grumpier at this hour, but the power of that _damn good sleep_ has him humming as he scrubs at his scalp, leaving a crown of shampoo bubbles adorned in his hair.

Once he’s completed his morning routine, he makes a beeline towards the fridge and the cabinet situated directly to its left. With one hand, Wooyoung grabs the half empty container of soy milk that he _insists_ to Jongho tastes better than its dairy counterpart, and with the other, he snags the probably-now-stale box of whatever cereal was on sale that week. Jongho’s watching him with a curious look in his eye as he leans against the counter, waiting for their coffee to brew and probably silently praying that the machine won't break again today.

“What’s got you so energetic today, dude?” Jongho finally asks, a small smile on his face. “I feel like I haven’t seen you so… non-corpse-like since, uh, _ever._ You having another manic episode, or something?”

Wooyoung takes a bite of his cereal—yeah, _stale_ —but doesn’t even grimace.

“I’m _quite stable_ ,” Wooyoung says, “but I very much thank you for the early morning psychoanalysis.”

Jongho snorts and places one of the two cups of coffee he’d brewed in front of Wooyoung. Between the two of them and their suffocatingly small apartment, there’s not much of a need for an abundance of cups, silverware, or plates. Because of this, they rotate between a grand total of three mugs, and today, it looks like Wooyoung scored the one that changes color based on its temperature. He watches in amusement as the mug quickly turns from black to white, burning hot coffee inside of it, and mentally thanks his little brother for the gift.

When Wooyoung adds about four tablespoons of sugar to the coffee and a generous amount of soy milk, the white of the mug dims a bit. Too bad.

He sips.

“Jongho,” Wooyoung starts suddenly, placing down his mug after a long, noisy slurp. His roommate’s staring at him with one eyebrow quirked, questioning.

“Uh, _yes_?” He prompts, his own mug—horror movie-themed, or something—held firmly between his two hands.

“I had _such_ a good sleep last night,” Wooyoung says it as if it’s some kind of epiphany.

“That’s it?”

“Yep,” Wooyoung grins, then hums in confirmation. “I feel like I’m about to have a _really_ good day. You ever gotten that kind of feeling before?”

Jongho seems to genuinely ponder that question, which Wooyoung appreciates. His roommate’s an attentive, caring guy, after all.

“Well,” the roommate in question starts. “It’s certainly been a while since I’ve woken up with that kind of feeling, but… I mean, _yeah_ , I definitely know what you’re talking about.”

Jongho downs the rest of his coffee, his _black_ coffee, and quickly rinses out the mug in the sink. “I’ve gotta get going soon, so I need to get ready,” he says. “I hope you’re right about today, Woo. It’s nice to see you so light.”

-

Perhaps, intuition can’t _always_ be trusted. Wooyoung realizes this the moment San’s hands settle heavily over his hips an hour into his shift that morning while he’s making an omelette.

“What are you making?” San huffs into Wooyoung’s ear, fingers digging into his skin through the fabric as he peers over his shoulder. Wooyoung winces. But wait, _what the fuck?_ San’s been giving him the silent treatment for at least a week, and now he’s back to his typical, sleazy self? It didn’t make sense, and if Wooyoung didn’t appreciate it before, he _definitely_ didn’t now. It was becoming damn near _exhausting_ to keep up with San’s hot and cold personality changes.

“Your breakfast, which I wish I weren’t,” Wooyoung snaps, kicking a foot backward into San’s knee. “But unfortunately, cooking for the inhabitants of this household is part of the job description.”

San hisses at the impact and takes half a step back, but his hands stay put. Wooyoung even feels his grip _tighten_.

Shit.

“What’s your problem?” Wooyoung finally musters up the courage to ask. “You’ve been acting like you fucking _hate me_ the past few days, or however long it’s been. Ever since after your stupid fucking party. You’ve either been ignoring me or just been straight up _rude_.” He pauses, takes a breath, then boldly continues.

“And what about yesterday, when I accidentally walked in on you and…that guy?”

Wooyoung thinks that it’s unnecessary to reveal to San that he and _that guy_ had actually had a friendly little chat together that same day. Therefore, he’d pretend that he didn’t know Jongin’s name.

All the same, San stays silent, but he still won’t fucking budge from behind Wooyoung’s back.

“What?” San finally murmurs, hooking his chin over Wooyoung’s left shoulder. “Are you jealous, or something?”

Wooyoung freezes, at a loss for words. Was this all a game to him? Was sleeping with Jongin—or _attempting_ to sleep with Jongin—all just San’s way of getting back at Wooyoung? At this point, he didn’t even know what they were actually “getting even” for, anyways. His grip on the knife he’d been using to cut up some fruit tightens. He turns off the stove burner to avoid ruining the omelette.

“Should I be?” Wooyoung asks softly, eyes focused on the kitchen wall in front of him. “Was that what you wanted to happen?”

He expects San to laugh and maybe start ignoring him again by the end of this conversation. Instead, he flips Wooyoung around to face him head-on, crowding into his space, pushing him further up against the counter. His eyes are intense, heavy, as his fingers tangle into Wooyoung’s skirt to prevent him from moving away.

“I’m not sure,” San murmurs, sharp, dark eyes searching Wooyoung’s frantically.

Wooyoung feels his eyes well up and _shit_ , this is _totally_ not the time or place to start crying again. But with San’s firm hold on him, it’s impossible to hide his face. A tear slips past his lashes and drips slowly down his cheek, and Wooyoung thinks it can’t get more pathetic than this, right here, right now.

“You fucking _suck_ ,” is all Wooyoung can manage, sniffling lamely. San’s still got him trapped with that scrutinizing gaze and the rigid hold on his hips. Suddenly, Wooyoung sees the corner of San’s mouth twitch. The bastard’s _smirking_.

“You like me that much?” He observes, almost like he’s in some sort of wondrous awe. San’s expression is a weird mixture of shocked, pleased, and… pained.

“You stupid fucking _bitch,_ yeah, of _course_ I do!” Wooyoung groans. He tips his head back because it’s feeling _way_ too demeaning for San to stare him down as he cries so damn pitifully. Even with his face partially out of view, he can still feel San’s eyes burning through the column of his neck.

The floodgates are open; he’d actually _admitted_ to San that he was into him, and he may as well keep up the honesty streak. So, Wooyoung continues.

“What the fuck’s wrong with you? You pulled some shit like that instead of just _asking me_ like a normal person? Instead of just _talking_ to me? Are you fucking for real? You piece of shit, I was crying in the basement bathroom for, like, _twenty minutes_ . God, _why_ do I even like you?”

During his angry little tirade, Wooyoung had managed to free his hands again and was now weakly swatting at San’s chest. _For emphasis_.

“Fuck,” a smack, “ _you._ ”

Wooyoung finally looks at San again, his vision a bit blurry from crying, but San’s still grinning at him. He’s still got a look in his eye that he can’t quite place.

“Hey,” San finally says, closing their proximity a bit further and nosing at Wooyoung’s jawline. Wooyoung can feel his lips brush directly below his ear, can feel them move against the sensitive skin there when he speaks again. “Relax a little, alright? Let’s talk.”

Wooyoung’s not crying anymore. San’s little gesture wasn’t inherently sexual, but it still had him burning up, warming the already blotchy skin of his face. When San finally releases his grip and takes a step back, Wooyoung tries not to whine at the loss of contact.

“I’m not so good at relationships,” San lamely admits, smiling in a way that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I think I realized pretty quickly that I liked you more than I’d intended to, and I _really_ fucking hated that. It felt like completely unknown territory, so I figured that if I just messed around with someone else, I’d feel better, get over it. But, as we both know, that… didn’t exactly work out the way I planned.”

 _Yeah, no fucking shit_.

And wait, that means Hongjoong was _completely_ accurate in his prediction. He’d hit the nail right on the head. Wooyoung makes a quick mental note to interrogate the shit out of his coworker later.

“So,” Wooyoung says. “What else was an act, then? Your entire _personality_?”

San visibly flinches, and Wooyoung takes that as an indisputable _yes_.

“Did your dad teach you that?” He continues bitterly. “Did he teach you that same shit they teach little girls? That if a boy’s mean to you, that means he fucking _likes_ you?” Wooyoung pauses, gauging San’s expression, his demeanor, but his face is more unreadable than before.

“Sometimes,” San offers, “it seemed to me that you liked it.”

Wooyoung draws his brows together, staring at San with absolute incredulity.

“Excuse me?” And that's all he can manage because he doesn’t want to admit that, _yeah_ , maybe San’s kind of right.

“You like being a bratty bitch, and you like being disrespected, and you _definitely_ like being ordered around even if you act like you hate it,” San accuses. His tone’s neutral, though, as if he’s discussing something as trivial as the goddamn weather. “Am I wrong?”

“That’s not the point here,” Wooyoung says, eyes averted. He doesn’t dispute the accusations because he knows that San would be able to see right through him, transparent.

“So you admit it, then?” San presses.

“Will you fuck off if I do?” Wooyoung retorts even quicker.

They eye each other warily, but San doesn’t respond. Wooyoung clicks his tongue, decides that he’s absolutely done with this conversation for today, and turns back around to finish San’s stupid fucking _omellete_. He sighs because, after all the time that passed, it’s cold.

“Wooyoung,” San says, finally breaking the tense silence. He doesn’t give Wooyoung a chance to respond, though, because he’s twisting him around to face him, pulled tight, noses touching, breath coming out in shallow huffs.

“What are you doing now?” Wooyoung dares to ask, his eyes nervously flitting across San’s face.

“Let me kiss you,” San breathes, and it’s not a question, but a command. When Wooyoung doesn’t immediately react, San continues.

“Please,” he adds, as if he’s just starting to learn what manners are.

Nerves alight, Wooyoung indulges him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always: comments and kudos are very appreciated. thank you for reading and have a lovely day!!


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